


Stop the World (I Wanna Get Off With You)

by panicatthealice



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: (kinda?), Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Complete, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hair Kink, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Sharing a Bed, Tags Are Hard, i don't know what else to say-, this is basically just porn, to my irl friends that follow me here: i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panicatthealice/pseuds/panicatthealice
Summary: My mouth moves before I know what am saying. “Does that get you off?”His eyes fly open, and I watch out of my peripheral vision as his cheeks turn pink. “What?”I mentally berate myself. “Nothing.”He pauses, his eyes calculating in the mirror. “If I say yes, will you stop?”Is my turn to sound stupid. “What?”“Nevermind, it’s stupid.”“No.”“What?”“I won’t stop.”-It's the last day of Seventh year and Simon needs to shave his hair before he goes back to the homes, but his shoulder's been injured after being out on a mission for the Mage just two days ago. If only there was someone to help him. The only issue seems to be that Simon seems to like having his hair played a little too much and Baz is more than eager to help.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 41
Kudos: 360





	Stop the World (I Wanna Get Off With You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annabellelux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabellelux/gifts), [the_jennster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_jennster/gifts).

> @Purpleologist said hair kink fic and what was I supposed to do? Not write it? Ridiculous.
> 
> This was the result of staying up too late (like, *very* late) and being on Discord too much. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it. :)

Simon’s things are gone. 

Well, not gone—packed. He’s managed to shove everything he owns into a single backpack. (Although, I'm sure Bunce has magicked it to be bigger on the inside.) I drop my own bag down on my bed and set my books down on my desk. Our room’s the cleanest it’s been since the beginning of this year. 

I hate it. It means I won't see him for two months. 

Today was the last day of classes, technically. We had exams last week and the graduation ceremony was yesterday. Seventh year completed. One more year, then I'll never see him again. My heart clenches painfully at the thought. 

I go over to my wardrobe and shrug off my Watford uniform in favor of a pair of black jeans and an Arctic Monkeys shirt—a gift from Fiona. She heard ‘Cigarette Smoker Fiona’ by them and decided she liked them well enough. As usual, being the incessant nuisance of an aunt that she is, she decided to pull me in for the wild ride that is her music taste. 

I hear the sound of something metallic falling to the floor, followed by Simon cursing which effectively pulls me out of my thoughts.. 

I step over to the bathroom. It's open and Simon's standing in front of the sink, reaching down to pick up a pair of scissors I assume he dropped. 

I clear my throat.

"Merlin," he starts, jolting a bit. (It's probably not a good idea to startle him when he's holding scissors.) "Would it kill you to announce yourself?" then, his eyes trail downwards. “Baz, you’re, you’re-”

“I’m what?” I raise an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You’re wearing jeans,” he blushes. 

I opt to ignore him. "I am, Snow and I did announce myself, but I'm sure those’ll kill you," I point at the scissors in his hand. He stammers, then blushes, inexplicably. 

"Shut up, I'm shaving my hair."

_Shaving my hair_.

I blink, stupidly. "How are you going to shave your hair with _scissors? _And why on _Earth _would you do that?" _Your hair is perfect as it is. _

“I was gonna cut most of it off before shaving it,” then, looking at me as if _I'm _the thick one. "Summer. Care homes? Y'know?" I do know.

I lean against the door way, "that's ridiculous. Can't they just _inspect _the kids for lice? No need for your to shave your head and walk around looking like an off-brand Marshall Mathers."

"You know Eminem's real name?"

I ignore him. "Why don't they shave your head there, instead? You'll fill our bathroom with your hair." And then I'll have to talk myself out of putting all the spare hair in a Ziploc bag and smelling and touching it over the summer. I'm disturbed. Ask anyone. 

He frowns, "they always manage to nick your scalp or leave it uneven."

I hum. This is probably the first real, civil conversation we've had in weeks. We don't talk, usually, unless it's about something mundane, big news, or a complaint. It's usually a complaint. It's also usually about the window.

I notice he's not moving, just standing in the mirror. (Does he want me to leave?) Then, he rolls his shoulder, and flinches. _Oh. _

As usual, Bunce and he had their big, annual Mage adventure two days ago. I'm surprised it didn't happen yesterday, during the graduation ceremony. 

He came back- nay, _stumbled, _into our room, covered in blood and bruises at two o'clock in the morning and looking like death.

_"Crowley, Snow. You'll ruin the floor."_

_"It's _stone. _What's there to ruin?"_

He didn't talk much, but I could tell the blood on him wasn't usual blood. It was Vampire blood. It made my sinuses sting. 

We didn't talk about it, really. What's there to say? 

_I see you're covered in vampire blood? Is this a warning or a promise? _

He's going to have to finish me off some day. Just, hopefully not too soon. Hopefully the universe gives me one more year with him.

For now, I'll take standing in the bathroom with an injured Simon, trying to shave his head at ten in the morning. 

He lifts up the scissors, then winces once more. He lets them fall to the white counter with a metallic clatter. He exhales deeply. Annoyed.

"Shoulder?" I ask, knowing he'll understand. 

He nods, "yeah." 

Then, because I'm weak, "do you need help?" 

His head swivels to me, eyes wide. "Do I need- yeah, actually. Wait, are you suggesting you help me cut my hair?"

I roll my eyes, because I'm feeling peculiarly exposed right now, despite being fully clothed. "Don't make me repeat myself," I say without snark. 

He considers this, then frowns. “How do I know you won’t try to stab me?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Snow. You’ve discovered my _nefarious _plan. I took a cosmetology course years ago in preparation. I paid off the nuns at the orphanage so they’d do a bad job of shaving you. It’s been years in the making-”

“Jesus, shut up. I get it. You’re planning on killing me with magic, instead.”

I frown. He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“What? Not bloody enough?”

I shake my head. I’d rather not think about our final battle, especially when he’s implying I think of killing him. Merlin, if he comes at me with a sword, I’m not moving. He’s so full of life, he’s the one that deserves to live; Not me.

_One more year. _What do I have to lose?

“I don’t spend my free time meticulously planning your demise, Snow, contrary to popular belief,” I say in a moment of blunt honesty. 

"I don’t believe you, but whatever. I trust you enough to let you cut my hair." I huff, but nonetheless, he pulls out his comb and electric hair razor. Electricity doesn't like to work around magic. Maybe I can **Mow the Freaking Lawn! **his hair. Perhaps not. I heard someone tried it a few years ago and it left them with Guy Fieri spikes.

I realized I haven't moved yet, so I take the scissors from Simon's hand and take a step towards him. I’m still reeling from the sudden change in subject.

Despite what I’ve just told Simon, I have not actually taken a cosmetology course. I’ve never shaved someone’s head before, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. There’s no outlets in our bathroom, so I pull my wand out and mentally pass through every electricity spell I know. 

**“Eureka!” **I shout. It buzzes to life. 

“Brilliant, mate,” Simon smiles. He’s stood to my left, wearing a pair of cuffed light blue jeans and a simple white t-shirt. He’s barefoot, and it inexplicably makes me blush. I think it’s the vulnerability of the situation. In any case, I’m glad I haven’t fed since last night. 

“I’ll pull a chair in, so you can sit,” I tell him, and set the buzzing razor down next to the sink.

I pick up my desk chair and pull it into the bathroom, trying my best not to hit anything important on the way. I set it down in front of the sink. Simon takes a seat. 

I step behind him, and look at his hair through the mirror. 

He doesn’t do much to it during the school year, so it’s grown to be quite unruly. His curls are still as golden as ever and he’s still as devastatingly handsome. 

“Is this a vampire thing?”

I startle. “What?”

“Like, do you need permission to touch me?” I feel my cheeks heat up at his wording. “If so, you have permission.”

“Shut up,” I say, “I’m trying to figure out what to do.” 

I place my hand on his head. His curls flatten beneath it. They’re unbelievably soft and springy. It should be a crime to shave them off.

“Penny says they’re like springs. She once told me she wanted to do some calculations and see if she could derive some spring constant or whatever. She said she wanted to use a curl like a Newton scale or something. I said no, obviously. I mean, what would that even accomplish?”

He’s rambling, and it hits me. He’s as nervous as I am. But likely not for the same reason.

“Snow?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” I gather up my courage and thread my fingers through his curls. My hand stops as I snag on a tangle. I work out the tangles by brushing my fingers through his curls. 

I think I imagine it, but I think I see him close his eyes in the mirror and smile. Crowley, my touch did that to him.

“Do you have a brush?”

“Hm?” he opens his eyes, seemingly taken out of a trance. “Oh, yeah.” He leans forwards, his head slipping away from my hands as he opens a sliding drawer (a modern addition) and pulls out a simple, black hair brush.

He holds it out to me, I take it wordlessly and smooth his hair back from his forehead with it. He sighs and closes his eyes again, leaning his head back. I wonder if anyone has ever brushed his hair before. 

My mother used to brush my hair when I was little. She’d put product into it and slick it back. I’d look like a mini vampire, even before I was turned. After she died and Malcom fell into his depression, Vera or Fiona would style it, but their hands were never like my mother’s. My father did my hair once, I think, when I was seven. Daphne did my hair for me once, too, when I was eleven and we were headed off to a wedding. 

After about age eleven, I took over myself for the most part. I don’t mind. Though, if I’m being honest, I’m the textbook definition of touch-starved. No one really touches me during the school year except for Niall. He’s always been a touchy person. If we’re talking, he’ll casually touch my arm, my shoulder, or my back. He hugs, unprompted sometimes, but not often. Once, during a sleepover, we fell asleep curled together. It was fifth year and he’d come out as bisexual a few months ago and was hopelessly in love with Dev, much like I was with Simon. We were each other’s first kisses, but besides a few makeout sessions, we never went far. It was nothing more than a convenient arrangement. Nonetheless, I miss the feeling of sharing body heat and being in someone’s space, even if that person isn’t the right person. (Simon's the right person.) Dev’s the opposite. Sometimes he’ll nudge my arm or pat my back, but that’s about it. I think we’ve only ever hugged once, and I’m pretty sure I initiated it right after a winning goal in a football match. 

The only other person that even touches me is Simon. But it’s never loving, and it’s usually out of anger. Because _I’ve _made him angry. The only time we really ever _touched _was first year when we shook hands. And now, I suppose.

I wonder if Simon’s as touch-starved as I am.

I watch his curls smooth out for a moment, then scrunch back up the moment they’re free. I set the brush down and pass my own hand through his hair because I’m weak and today’s the last day I’ll see him until August. 

“Do you like having your hair shaved?” I ask him. The words come out before I can think about them.

“No. I hate it, actually.”

“Why?” I scratch my nails down through his scalp. He exhales content.

“It makes me feel, well. I dunno. As if I’ve lost a part of me. We all look the same at the home. Scrappy, shaven boys.”

I nod. I don’t know what to say, so I just keep passing my fingers through his hair. It feels wrong to cut his hair at this point, after he’s told me he hates it. He doesn’t seem to be complaining about my touching his hair, as far as I can tell, though, so I don’t stop.

I place both my hands at the beginning of his hairline and then scratch my nails down to the back of his neck, gently, the way Niall did to me once. 

Simon practically moans, “that feels good.” My hands freeze and I watch him in the mirror. He has his eyes closed and his head is leaning into my hands. I pull my hands back, but then experimentally place my hand, fingers together at the top of his head, then spread my nails out over his scalp.

“Merlin, Baz. That’s even better.” He’s watching me in the mirror now.

I try to remember what the point of this was or if there was ever a point where I knew why I was doing this. Then unthinking, I brush his hair from back to front, then tug a bit at the top. He moans. The same way he only does in my dreams. Dreams I’d thought would never become reality. Yet here we are.

“Jesus, Baz. You have no idea how good that feels.” 

My mouth moves before I know what am saying. “Does that get you off?”

His eyes fly open, and I watch out of my peripheral vision as his cheeks turn pink. “What?” 

I mentally berate myself. “Nothing.”

He pauses, his eyes calculating in the mirror. “If I say yes, will you stop?”

Is my turn to sound stupid. “What?”

“Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I won’t stop.”

We both stop to regard our reflections. His eyes are staring through mine, and the mirror’s doing nothing to quell his gaze, if anything, it’s amplified. This feels like a wet dream come to life.

“I won’t stop if you say yes,” I repeat.

“Okay,” Simon says, slowly, daringly. “Then don’t stop.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I twine my fingers through his hair and he leans his head back, again. I risk a look and see a bulge in his jeans. Oh, Merlin. How did I get here? In the back of my head, the Talking Head’s ‘Once In A Lifetime’ starts playing, and it occurs to me that I may be a bit disturbed.

I scratch my fingers down through his scalp, as if I don’t know what it’s doing to him. I allow myself this. I watch as Simon curls his hand into a fist, pushing it into his thigh as his other hand comes up to his mouth to stifle a moan. I want to tell him he doesn’t need to. He can be as loud as he wants with me. I can tell he wants to touch himself as he brings his hand closer to his crotch. Why is he holding back? Am I?

“Touch yourself,” the words tumble out of my mouth. I avert my gaze from him, “I mean, only if you want to-” _Fuck_. I need to get my thoughts under control.

“No,” he says. I freeze and begin to take my hands away from his hair and step away from him.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean-” I sputter. I never sputter. _Idiot, this is my fault_. I should’ve never opened my mouth, I-

He cuts me off, “no, I mean. Touch _me, you _touch _me” _My head snaps up and I meet his eyes only to see he’s already looking at me. His shoulders are squared and his chin’s jutted out like it always is when he’s facing a challenge. Or me. “Please,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“Merlin, you can’t just say things like that,” I say. I feel as if I’m burning up with embarrassment.

“Why not?”

“You don’t know what it means.”

“No, I do,” he’s especially bold today, it seems. “_Touch me_, Baz.”

I don’t need to be told thrice. I slip my fingers back into his hair and lean down to mouth at the back of his neck. It seems wrong to just reach down and palm his crotch from the beginning. I’ll work up to it. (Merlin knows I need to work up the courage.)

“_Mm,_” he groans, leaning boneless into the chair. 

That’s all the encouragement I need, apparently as I lick a strip up the side of his neck closest to his ear, then take his lobe between my teeth. His hands come up behind him and his hands wrap around my neck. He leans his head to the right, and pulls me towards him to meet him halfway into a kiss. It’s awkward, and messy, and open-mouthed, and _glorious_.

“C’mere,” he whispers, grabbing my hand and guiding me around the chair in front of him. He lets go of my hand, in favor of looping his fingers through my belt loops and dragging me towards him. I reach my hands out to his shoulders to steady myself. 

He seems to change his mind as he releases my belt loops and places his hands on my chest. “Wait.” I freeze. He realizes the implications of what he’s said as I freeze once more. “I just really need to snog you against a wall, hold up,” he explains. _Oh. _I let out a breathy laugh and put my forearm over my eyes as I lean my head back.

Merlin, this boy is going to give me a heart attack. (Can vampires have heart attacks?) 

I take a step away from him and towards a corner of the bathroom where our towels are hanging, side by side. He stands up then grabs the back of my neck and practically smashes our faces together. I wonder if this is how he kisses Wellbelove, then immediately wish I hadn’t.

“What’s wrong,” he asks into the kiss, then leans back. That’s the thing about being this close, you’re acutely aware of the other person’s body; Of course he felt me tense.

“Nothing,” I say, then cradle his face with my hand, reminding myself I’m allowed this. “Nothing that matters, anyway.” (It’s true; They broke up months ago. Finally.) I place my free hand on his hip then lean forward to kiss him again. 

He looks as if he’s about to complain, but quickly falls silent as I lick into his mouth, passing the tip of my tongue against the roof of his mouth roughly. He moans and pushes his leg between my own. The friction of it makes my head spin. It’s intoxicating and everything I’ve ever wanted but didn’t know I needed.

He pulls away from my mouth and kisses his way up my jaw to the shell of my ear, licking it. “What was that about touching me?” he whispers, then punctuates it by placing his hand on my chest and running his fingers over my nipple. _Merlin_. Suddenly, fighting seems pointless since we could’ve been doing this for the past seven years. (Well, not _seven_. Maybe the last two.)

“Patience,” I say, but contradict myself by gathering all my courage and moving my hand down between us to palm at the tent in his jeans. I hear his breath hitch.

“I’ve never had a lot of patience,” he says, breathily. 

He moves his head away from my ear and back to my mouth, planting a messy kiss on my lips, then deepening it. He moves his own hand down to palm at my own jeans. 

“Those jeans should be illegal,” he says, gripping my cock through my jeans.

“Speak for yourself,” I retort, a bit breathless and embarrassed by how a bit of cock palming and kisses have reduced me to this. 

“Hm,” he hums, then messily undoes my button, “Merlin, you look bloody fantastic in them, but I think you’d look better with them off.” 

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice says we’re moving too fast, but I ignore it. Too fast? I’ll show it fast. I’ve been waiting years to do this.

“Hm?” he asks.

_Shit_. I didn’t mean to say that outloud. I wonder if Simon’s “You heard me,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel. “Get on with it, Snow.”

He frowns, but drops to his knees—which is a sight all on its own—and undoes my button, then tugs my jeans down past my hips and thighs. I finish kicking them off, though the neat freak in me wants to fold them up on my bed or chair or _anywhere _other than the floor. 

I decide to ignore the voice in my head—it’s gotten me nowhere so far. 

Suddenly, I’m pulled out of my thoughts as Simon leans forwards, gripping my thighs, and licks me roughly over my pants. I curl my hand into his hair and let my head fall back against our towels with a thud. It’s all I can do to not cum right there and then.

Imagine that. I finally get off with Simon and manage to cum in my pants before he’s even really done anything. 

“Is this is okay?” Simon asks, looking up at me. His eyes are deep pools of blue, lustful. I don’t trust myself to speak so I nod. 

This is all the confirmation he needs as he pulls my pants down over my thighs and takes my cock in his hand. I curl my other hand into his hair as well as he reaches out with his tongue to lick underside of my cock. 

“Merlin,” I say, “Merlin and Morgana and-”

I feel Simon’s lips wrap around my cock and take it down as far as he can manage. I dig my nails into his hair and try to keep my hips from jerking forward and triggering his gag reflex. 

Then, it hits me. I don’t know why I hadn’t bothered to ask before. “Are you gay?”

He pulls off and inexplicably laughs. _Oh_. Was this all a set up? Some sort of trick intended to humiliate me? If so, why did he take it so far? Why-

“I, well, I dunno.”

I blink, then wish I hadn’t said anything. If I hadn’t said anything, I’d still have Simon’s mouth around my cock. (And what a glorious mouth it is.)

“You don’t know,” I say, punctuating each word with an incredulous pause. 

“Well, it’s gonna sound like bullocks, but,” he shrugs. Most of his communication is done in shrugs, I don’t know how he’s gotten through seven years of school. “I dunno. I’ve never thought about it a lot. Are you gay?”

“Yes. Completely. How do you _not _know?” I say, trying to move the attention back to him.

He shrugs again. “I told you. I’ve never really thought about it. But, if it makes you feel better, I _really _want to kiss you and do this-”

He leans forward to suck on the tip of my cock for a moment and my knees nearly buckle. Simon takes notice and places his hands back on my hips to steady me. It’s so thoughtful and Simon of him to delay his own pleasure for someone else’s. But, I’m not complaining, especially when his cheeks hollow and he takes me as deep as he can manage. I wonder if years of stuffing sour cherry scones into his mouth have prepared him for this moment, then immediately wish I hadn’t. Especially since I’m seconds away from cumming into his mouth.

“Simon, I-”

I look down to see he’s watching me, he raises his eyebrow (badly) and circles his tongue over the head of my cock. _Oh._

“I’m gonna come-” he presses his thumbs into my hip bones and that’s when I realize what he’s letting me do. He doesn’t mind if I cum in his mouth.

I tug at his hair as I feel waves of sheer pleasure go through my body. I feel as if I’ve fallen over a cliff. I vaguely remember a quote about how it’s the landing that kills you, not the fall, then vaguely realize I don’t give a fuck.. He sucks me through my orgasm, until I’m too sensitive and I have to push his head away. 

I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall, barely able to stand.

I take a moment to just breath, playing with a lock of Simon’s hair with my hand that isn’t on the wall for support. I feel my pants, halfway down my thighs and reach down to push them off the rest of the way, kicking them off in the general direction of where my jeans lie.. (Doesn’t look like I’ll need them, the way today’s turning out. ) (I’m not complaining.)

I hear the sounds of Simon standing up and the feel of my hand rising as he does. I close my eyes, still catching my breath. I feel him grab the back of my neck, and before I can object, he pulls me in for a kiss. 

Merlin. Did he swallow my cum? He must’ve, I didn’t hear him spit it out. And now he’s kissing me with the same mouth he had wrapped around my cock a second ago. I feel as if I should feel disgusted, but if anything, it just makes me want to ravish him right where he’s standing. 

I feel as he bites my bottom lip, then leaves kisses on my jaw as he makes his way towards my ear. Wherever his lips touch, I feel as if I’m being shocked with electricity. 

_Simon Snow, do you know what you do to me?_

“Don’t forget what you said,” Simon whispers into my ear. 

_Touch yourself. _

_Touch me._

“I haven’t forgotten,” I say, then thread my fingers into his head and pull his head back so I can kiss him. Merlin, if I knew this was how it felt to kiss Simon Snow, I would’ve done it ages ago. 

I push back every fear in my mind and reach down to palm at Simon’s cock, just how he did with mine. Despite being quite attractive (ask anyone), I’ve not actually had sex. It’s a bit hard to get it up with anyone when the poster boy of Magical Britain keeps popping up in your mind every time your cock gets hard. Niall and I tried once, but we both stopped before it got too heated and I was left with a stiffy for the rest of the day. (I wonder if Simon’s a virgin. I wonder if he and Agatha have had sex.) (I feel a sudden urge to pull my wand out and cast a **vanish the thought!**) 

I push all thoughts of Niall and Agatha and anyone who’s not Simon out of my mind as I pop open Simon’s jeans one handed. 

“Violin,” he says into my mouth.

“What?” I ask, confused as to what the hell he’s on about, especially when I’m about to shove my hand down his pants. 

“No wonder you’re so good with your hands. It’s the violin.”

I blush, but Simon’s confidence seems to be rubbing off on me because I say, “wait until you see what else my hands can do.”

I watch his eyebrow almost disappear under his curls which have grown ruly and untamed. “All talk and no bite,” he tuts, “why don’t you prove it?”

“Maybe I will,” I say, and attempt to tug his jeans down his legs. They’re tight (thank you, Merlin) so I have to tug them a few times to get them down to his ankles. By the time he’s kicked them off along with his pants, he’s laughing. 

“What?” I say, trying not to be offended, “it’s not my fault you wear your jeans so infernally tight.”

He shakes his head and tucks a piece of hair that’s fallen into my eye behind my ear. “You don’t like it?,” he asks, then treads his own fingers into my own hair. The gesture’s so tender I have to look away from his face. 

“I never said that,” I mutter. Eyes averted from his face, he’s left me nowhere else to look except for his cock. There’s a trail of light brown hair coming down from below his belly button all the way down. I reach out and trail my finger all the way down to his cock. He shivers and I feel as his muscles jump below his skin. (He’s always back to throttling size by June.) 

I wrap my hand around his cock, feeling the weight of it in my hand. It’s a bit pinker than him and veinier. I stroke one of the veins with my thumb and his cock twitches in my hand.

“Merlin, stop teasing,” he groans, frustrated, hips jerking.

I smile, the look up to catch his gaze, and take him in my mouth. I wrap my hand around the part of his cock my mouth doesn’t wrap around and stroke him.

It doesn’t take long. I put my hand on his hip to steady him as I can feel him wanting to thrust into my mouth. After only about ten strokes, he’s cumming into my mouth. 

I suck him through his orgasm and swallow his cum down. I pull off when he’s fully spent. 

His nails dig into my scalp a bit as he suddenly tugs me up. Eagerly, I get up and to meet him for a kiss.

It’s deep and hot and wet and filled with years of words left unsaid. I match him kiss for kiss. I lick his bottom lip and then take it between my teeth. I open my eyes to see he’s already watching me, eyes filled with an implacable emotion. 

Lust? No, it’s deeper than that. Less superficial.

I stop thinking as Simon brings his lips to my ear and whispers, “bed?”

I nod. He grabs my hand and leads me out of the bathroom into our bedroom. His hand is soft and warm in my hand and I never want to let go. I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I’d cross every line for him. Does he want to have sex again? Does he want to go further? Does he-

“Which bed?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. 

“Hm? Oh, yours. I don’t want to get mine dirty.”

I watch him roll his eyes, but he tugs me towards his bed, anyway. It’s awkward, and I land with my knees and nearly fall into Simon. 

He laughs and takes my hand, kissing my palm, then leaning up to kiss my lips. It’s soft and nothing like the ones we’ve shared today. There’s nothing behind it. Which means, he's just kissed me because he wanted to. 

_Because he wanted to. _

The thought leaves me feeling hot and delirious with love.

He scoots back towards the wall, pushing his backpack towards the bottom edge of the bed. He tugs me towards his chest. I lay down so we’re facing each other. He’s holding his hand on the pillowcase. I grab it and hold it because he’s Simon Snow and because he’s letting me do this. 

“Can I?” I ask, not knowing what I’m asking. 

He smiles, “you don’t even have to ask.” 

He leans forward and kisses me, again. You’d think I’d be desensitized by now, but if anything, they only seem to get better. 

We seperate, but not for long. I reach forward and brush his curls off his forehead. He closes his eyes, content, and leans forward to tuck his head into my chest.

“Y’know, you never did cut my hair,” he says. He’s wrapped his arm around me, and I feel as if I’m going to burst into flame. I wouldn’t mind.

“Later,” I say, and kiss the top of his head. 

He hums. I can feel his fingers trailing lazily over my back. Suddenly, they stop. 

“Baz?”

“Yes, Snow?”

“Why did you do it?”

I mentally sort through everything I’ve done today. “Do what?”

He pauses, considering. “Any of it. Why did you offer to cut my hair? Why did you tell me to touch myself?” I blush at the memory, “why did you get me off?”

I don’t know what to say, so I trace my fingers lightly over the underside of Simon’s forearm that he has between us. The angles awkward, but I need something to ground me.

“I don’t know.”

He doesn’t say anything, but I feel him tense beneath me. 

I take a deep breath. “Because I wanted to,” I admit. 

He pulls back to look at me. Just… look at me. I feel his eyes trace over my face, as if taking it in. I wish I knew what he was thinking. He could do anything right now and I wouldn’t stop him. Kill me. Kiss me. Shove me away. 

What could I do?

Instead, he places his hand on my cheek and strokes his thumb over my cheekbone. 

“How many times have we kissed?” Simon asks.

“Too many times to count.”

He shakes his head, “not enough.”

Then _he _kisses _me_. 

“Why did you do it?” I ask him.

“Kiss you?”

I pause, “well, yes. But, all of it.”

He laughs, lightly. “Well, I dunno. I guess, same as you. I wanted to,” he pauses, as if choosing his words, “I’ve wanted to. For a long time I think.”

I watch as the sunlight falls in lines of shadow and light through the blinds onto his face, his hair, his hands. Him. His eyes are vibrant. Electric blue. They’ve never been boring, I don’t know how I could ever think that. 

He’s… well, he’s beautiful.

“I love you,” the words tumble out before I have time to stop myself. I consider taking them back, but what’s the point? It’d be a lie if I denied it. 

Simon’s eyes widen, before softening. He pulls his gaze away and towards his hand which he’s rested on my chest, right over the band logo. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just holds his hand over my heart.

“I don’t know if I can say the same, right now. But… I think, if you gave me time. I could learn.”

He pulls his eyes back to me and my heart is so full I could die. I close my eyes and roll away from him onto my back. I close my eyes and feel and sun on my skin. I feel as Simon moves towards me. He wraps his arms around mine which is at my side and intertwines our fingers. He lays his head on my shoulder. I can feel his eyes on my jaw, but I don’t open mine. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, tentatively. “I mean it. I mean, I’m a shit boyfriend, but, if you let me, I could your shitty boyfriend. If you wanted to, that is.”

I laugh. Because I’m disturbed and deeply in love with the idiot at my side. I laugh because today is the best day of my life and because Simon just told me he could love me and that he wants to be my boyfriend. What more could I ask for? I’d cross every line for him. If the Mage or the Old Families want to object, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

“Yes, Simon. I’m more than okay,” I turn my head to look at him. “I’d love to be your boyfriend.” I blush a bit at the word. _Boyfriend_.

_Simon Snow wants to be my boyfriend. _

“Good,” he says, nodding. “Because I want to be your boyfriend, too.”

I can’t help it. I reach around and place my hand on his cheek as I lean in to kiss him. As if it’s the first time. As if it’s the last time. 

“Come to Hampshire with me,” I say. “Fuck the homes. Fuck shaving your hair.”

He casts his eyes down. “I- I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“The Mage and the Humdrum and- and it’s just-” he struggles to find the words as he twists his hand into his hair. I grab it and pull it down to meet my lips. His eyes widen and his mouth falls open.

“Fuck the world, Simon. Stop the world. I want to be with you.”

“Baz-”

“You’re my boyfriend, now. Yeah? That’s what boyfriends do, Simon. Come with me,” I squeeze his hand with my own.

He swallows, and nods. “Yeah,” he says, then, “yeah, okay. I’ll come to Hampshire, Baz.”

I smile and kiss his palm. “Good. Because we’ve got a whole summer to make up for years of lost time.”

“Lost time?”

“Time I could’ve spent doing this,” I say, then I lean forward to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> Songs mentioned: 
> 
> Arctic Monkeys - Cigarette Smoker Fiona
> 
> Talking Heads - Once In A Lifetime
> 
> Arctic Monkeys - Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You
> 
> -
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments! They give me a larger dopamine rush than any drug every could!


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